A few beats passed. Would lying give me any advantage? “No,” I finally admitted.
Was that relief on her face?
“The oath was the only way to save you and buy time to figure out what to do next. It’s rare, ancient magic—not something I entered into lightly. But it was the best option available, and I’d do it again if it meant keeping you alive,” she said. “Ciaran tried to find me more information about the oath, but our repository of books here is limited. Most people don’t bring books with them when they escape Lirien.”
As though Lirien were a prison.
Her hatred for my kingdom seemed so dissonant with her integrity. Even in front of Ciaran, she’d stood by her choice to save my life, her confidence unwavering.
Don’t be an idiot.
Before I’d been Sealed, my idealistic, naive side would have drowned out the voice of caution now ringing through my thoughts. She may have saved me, but she was still Viori. An enemy to my kingdom. I’d witnessed their ruthlessness too many times with the Regulation.
You can’t trust her. If she had even the slightest clue who I was, she’d turn me over immediately. Use me for ransom—or worse.
Fortunately, the Seal on my back protected my identity.
“How did you learn about this rare, ancient oath in the first place?”
“I have a … skill. I memorize anything I read. And my mother brought her spell books with her when she came here. I’ve studied them.”
I gave her a hard stare. “I can’t be married to you. Or any other Viori traitor.”
“Traitor?” Her voice was hard. Cold. “If I’m a traitor, what does that make you—a Lirien soldier running from your own people?”
She crossed her arms. “Right now, this marriage is the only thing keeping you alive. My tribe is furious. Our laws about Liriens are absolute and they might not admit you. The Viori believe anyone who comes outside of the Harvest Moon is a spy or a threat, and they’ll make an example of you.”
“If I am admitted, then what?” I demanded. “Will they let me go? Or am I just trading one prison for another?”
Seren’s expression darkened. “That depends. If we can prove that I had the right to claim you, you’ll earn the right to stay … and maybe leave, if we can break the bond between us and you find a way to escape from the territory. If we fail, you won’t leave at all.”
“Sounds like my options are all curpiss.” I let the blanket fall away and stood. “I need my clothes. And where’s my sword?”
She crossed over to a table where trousers, a clean shirt, and a fur-lined leather vest had been placed. “These are my brother’s. I think they’ll fit you.” She held out the trousers as I approached, her gaze focused on my face.
How respectful.
I smirked. “If we’re married, you should be able to handle seeing me naked.”
“Don’t get too cocky. I wouldn’t remain married to a Lirien if you were the last man in the world.” Her eyes narrowed. “Your sword is buried inside the vuk. I couldn’t carry both it and you, so I chose you.”
Anger tore through me, but I forced it down as I tugged on the trousers. They were snug around the thighs and short, but better than being naked. She couldn’t have known the sword’s value, and I needed to be rational. “Then I have to retrieve it.”
She handed me my boots as I finished with the clothing. “You can’t leave.”
“I need my sword.” I couldn’t stand being at anyone’s mercy—not hers, not theirs. If I couldn’t even hold on to my own blade, what did that make me?
“My tribe is convening a council meeting this afternoon to judge us both. If they decide the oath wasn’t justified, I’ll be punished too—banishment at best, execution at worst. I’ve staked my life on this, Rykr. On you. You need to understand that.”
I had no intention of standing trial. “But I’m not imprisoned, right?” The panels of this tent suffocated me.
“Not precisely.”
“Then I’m not staying.” My father needed to know about my attack—I’d been here too long already. Surely someone in Lirien could undo this fucking blood oath. The High Magister of Ibarra, at the very least. “If you could point me toward my sword, we’ll call it even.”
She didn’t answer as I pushed aside the tent flap.
True to his word, Ciaran stood only about fifteen feet away, a sword in hand.
